


be my lucky charm

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, childhood AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:15:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: From the tender age of six, luck has always played a part in Fitz and Jemma's relationship.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 25
Kudos: 41





	1. A Jar of Jellybeans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accio-the-force (XOLove47)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XOLove47/gifts).



“Alright, alright, bring on the booze!” Daisy’s voice cuts through the babble of the dark bar, arm motioning wildly as she waves to the waiter bearing a wobbling tray of drinks. “Guys, who ordered the pitcher of beer? We don’t drink like undergrads anymore,” 

“Who  _ else  _ would’ve ordered the pitcher of beer?” Bobbi deadpans from two seats down, rolling her eyes as, true to prediction, Hunter reaches for said pitcher with giddy hands. “Only Hunter could down a pitcher of Bud Light like he was still in freshman year.” 

Hunter just shoots her a hurt look as he pointedly pours himself a glass. The long chug he takes from it doesn’t help his defense, though, and Bobbi’s pointed glare is still facing him down as he pours his second glass almost immediately. “I thought we were here for Fitz ‘n Jem, not to insult my drinking habits,” 

“We are,” Mack chuckles from where he’s sitting next to Daisy. “But then you started drinking like a frat boy instead of a grown man. You were basically asking for it.” 

“Yeah,” Trip adds, popping open the cap to his cider. “We all stopped drinking like underclassmen years ago, man. How  _ does _ Bobbi put up with you when you get hungover?” 

The table dissolves into good-natured debate, Hunter gesturing wildly with his beer in hand while Daisy matches each of his flails with her own. Throughout it all, Bobbi catches the eyes of the only two people not participating in the debate -- arched eyebrows and all, Fitz and Jemma simply sit in the center of the booth and observe the practically rehearsed debate, amusedly sipping their beers. 

They’ve always been that way -- content to sit and watch the action play out around them while they were happy to simply be a part of the conversation. Bobbi’s not sure where they got it from, but as she watches Mack slosh some beer out of his glass in his attempt to make a point, she’s particularly glad they did. Even  _ if  _ they’re meant to be the main reason their little band of troublemakers has reunited for the night. Best to bring it back to the focal point, she decides when she sees Fitz gently take Jemma’s hand and kiss the ring on it. A ring she knows wasn’t there the last time she saw either of them. 

“Guys,” she says, her voice cutting through the hubbub easily. It comes with the years of practicing law, and she hopes it’ll be able to cut through the cacophony that is the yelling of her kids. Future kids, that is. She didn’t even want to  _ think  _ about that at the current moment. “Remember why we’re here?” 

The direction of the noise changes immediately. “Hear, hear!” Hunter calls, raising his beer again, but this time towards the back of the booth. “To Jemma ‘n Fitz!” The table agrees in unison, all of them raising their drinks in a noisy  _ clink _ . Jemma and Fitz look slightly mollified at the sudden surge in attention but handle it with grace, small smiles on their faces. “To finally popping the question,” Hunter adds when the drinking dies down. “After...wait, how long has it been again?” 

“Too long,” Mack snorts, and Trip nods in agreement. “I was sixty percent sure both of you were going to die of old age before you got married,” Jemma blushes, but Fitz simply rolls his eyes and chucks a bar peanut at the towering man. “Look, I was there when you were trying to ask her out, Turbo. I’ve never seen you in a bigger wreck. Not even when you were preppin’ to defend your thesis in front of committee senior year.” 

“She could’ve very well said no!” Fitz sputters out, sending the table into a bout of laughter. “How was I s’posed to know she was, and I quote, ‘madly in love with me’?” 

Daisy gives him a deadpan look, beer glass slipping slightly in her hand. “Dude. Jem’s been in love with you since you were six. Believe me.” Jemma, for her part, was fighting a dark blush that was rapidly spreading to the roots of her hair. “Swear to god, if you hadn’t asked her out senior year of college I would’ve, just so that you would maybe get up the balls to do it." 

Bobbi favors ignoring the tiny-slip up for her next question -- after all, it's a night for Fitz and Jemma. She can confront Daisy about her closet exit later. "I don't think I've ever heard how you two met," she offers casually, and judging by the look Daisy shoots her, she was right to gloss over the other girl's previous statement. "Sounds like a story." Both Jemma and Fitz wave off the invitation to speak, their sentences overlapping about its mundaneness and it being too long of a story, but in the end, it's once again Daisy who saves the day, knocking back another swig of beer. 

"I remember it like it was yesterday. You should've  _ seen _ the two of them, they were so tiny..."

* * *

_ The jar is huge.  _

_ Perhaps that's the wrong phrasing for it -- it is, for all intents and purposes, absolutely daunting. Fitz isn't sure how far he has to crane his neck back to see the top of the jar, but he knows that it's about as far as his joints will allow him. Said jar is currently filled to the brim with jellybeans of every color, a smaller, more kid-friendly sign at the bottom encouraging students to write their names and guesses before depositing them into a smaller (and less frightening, thank goodness) box to the right.  _

_ Idly, he wonders how many bags of jellybeans the janitor has to haul through the back door in order to fill it. He also wonders where the jellybeans go. After all, it isn't like they use the same jar every year...do they? Hopefully not; he couldn't imagine what happened to them in the summer heat.  _

_ "Did you know that a jellybean is about three-and-a-half cubic centimeters?"  _

_ Fitz turns to his right and swears he's stumbled into an alternate dimension. The voice belongs to a pair of curious brown eyes, framed by long hazelnut locks and a positively broomish set of bangs. She's dressed in a light blue and white striped shirt, the sleeve of which she's currently using to point at one of the jellybeans in the jar. "It's what?" he asked, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. _

_ "Three-and-a-half cubic centimeters," the girl explains almost matter-of-factly, almost as if she doesn't mind that she has to explain her random trivia fact twice. "My mum and I learned it when we were watching Unwrapped once. You sound funny. Are you Scottish? I've only heard Scottish people on TV."  _

_ Fitz blinks, his brain temporarily short-circuiting from meeting a beautiful girl to having her call his accent funny all in the span of five seconds. "'M Scottish," he says, deciding to tackle the easiest hurdle first. "My family moved here 'cause of my da. Then, uh...then he left." He didn't know what possessed him to disclose that fact, especially as it wasn't something he'd told anyone he'd met at school so far. "How, uh...how big do you think the jar is?"  _

_ A spark lights in the girl's eye, as if she's finally met a worthy opponent. "You think if we find out how big the jar is, we can find out how many jellybeans go in it?" He nods, and she picks up one of the premade guessing ballots, squinting at it. "What would you say the height of this paper is?"  _

_ He squints at it as well, not wanting to make a bad impression, and even goes so far as to hold his thumbs against the edge of the paper. "Two inches, give or take," he decides, and she nods. "It takes two of my thumbs."  _

_ "Right," she mutters, "and since we've got no shortage of papers here..." Fitz watches as she takes the ballot and lines it up with the bottom of the jar, holding the pencil at the top of the paper before moving the paper over the pencil, repeating until she's unable to reach any higher. "How many have we got so far?"  _

_ "Twelve," _

_ "I can't reach any higher -- can you?" With some careful maneuvering, Fitz manages to take the paper and pencil without disrupting the girl's previous calculations, and manages to fit in another length and a half before he's forced to admit that the height of the jar's bested him. "How many more d'you reckon we'd need?"  _

_ Some more squinting. "I'd say about two or three. Three and a half if I'm feeling lucky." The girl nods and takes up a pencil and their previous ballot. "So if you've got twelve...with another three and a half...times two...that's thirty-one inches."  _

_ She looks over at Fitz, who's already measuring the length of the jar with the same ballot. "Length of the jar's twelve inches, and it's a square, so it'll just be thirty one by a hundred and forty-four."  _

_ A nod. "And divided by three-and-a-half..." She's quick to do the math, and Fitz finds he has to stop his jaw from dropping to the ground as she does out the long division without hesitation. "Maybe 1,275 jellybeans in the jar." He lets out a whistle, and she nods in agreement. "That's a lotta jellybeans for one jar." The number '1275' is written on the paper in careful scrawl before 'Jemma Simmons, Mrs. Cauley, Grade 1' is added to it. It's the grade and class that catches his eye, and Fitz turns to the girl -- she's Jemma Simmons, now, not just a girl -- with a confused look on his face.  _

_ "I'm in Mrs. Cauley's class, too," he says, and Jemma's face lights up. "But I didn't see you yesterday,"  _

_ "I had to go to the doctor's yesterday, so my mum didn't see the point in sending me in after it," she explains, her excitement growing more and more visible. "We can both put our name on the same ballot!" She sticks out her hand with a wide-toothed grin, a few teeth already missing. "I'm Jemma. Jemma Simmons." He takes it and shakes it (one of the few things his da had attempted to 'teach' him before leaving), feeling as if he was cementing something great. "What's your name?"  _

_ "Fitz," he tells her, and that, too, somehow feels more right than having to wince whenever Mrs. Cauley calls him Leo. "I mean, my name's Leo Fitz. But people just call me Fitz,"  _

_ "Nice to meet you, Fitz," she says amusedly. "I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship." Fitz doesn't say it out loud, but he thinks that making friends with Jemma is the best thing he's ever done in the first two days of first grade, better than the monkey he'd drawn on the cover of his homework folder or the compliment he'd gotten on his handwriting when they'd initially decorated their nametags.  _

_ It's only solidified later in the day when the principal announces their names as the winners of the jellybean guess -- astonishingly only about three beans off -- and Jemma turns to Fitz, grinning as the prize of ice cream for their class is announced. "Pretty lucky, huh? We only missed three beans!"  _

_ He thinks it's more that he was lucky to have met her while pondering over the jellybeans in the first place, but he just grins shyly and nods, high-fiving her as the bell rings to signal the end of the day.  _

_ All in all, it isn't a bad way to start the first grade in a new school, and when his mother asks him about his day later at dinner, he can't keep the grin off of his face as he recounts the tale of the jellybeans, their mathematical feats, and, of course, the warmth Jemma Simmons had inspired in him when she'd said it was 'the start of a beautiful friendship'. _


	2. A Love of Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz gets a deeper glimpse into his best friend's life.

_ "Will you come to my ballet recital Saturday?"  _

_ The request is so abrupt, so un-Jemma, that Fitz turns from where he's squinting at the tree in front of him for caterpillars to look at her. "Well, really, it's all of the different classes performing, so you'll get to see a lot of different ballets, but I'm going to be dancing in it," she hastens to explain. "My mum's always saying I should ask more of my friends to come to my recital, but I can't really tell her that my only other school friend is already in the recital --"  _

_ "You want me to come to your ballet recital?" Uneasiness settles somewhat in Fitz's chest. They've been friends for the last two years, even cultivated a careful routine of playdates and sleepovers, much to the amusement of both families. But to be a part of something that was bigger than the two of them -- to step into an aspect of Jemma's life that had previously been occupied by her and her alone? It terrifies him in ways he can't really describe. "But I don't know anything about ballet. I don't even dance when we have to go to gym class." _

_ Jemma sighs, picking at the bush in front of her feet. "I have a solo," she admits. "In the middle of Swan Lake. And I'm nervous I'm going to mess up, or fall on my face, or forget what my next position is in the middle of the song." The leaf in her hands slowly turns to tiny shreds, and Fitz silently takes them out of her still-fidgeting hands. "If you come, I know I won't mess up. I never mess up when you're with me. You're like my lucky charm."  _

_ Fitz frowns. He's seen Jemma excel in everything from science to spelling, and likes to think he knows her well enough that any achievements she accrues are due to her own merit, not because of his presence acting like some lucky rabbit's foot. But his silence must carry on just a touch too long, for by the time he's opened his mouth to tell her as such, she's already attempting to recoup.  _

_ "Forget I asked, it was a dumb thing to think anyways -- besides, it's already Thursday and Saturday's two days away --" _

_ "I'll come," _

_ "It's entirely too much to ask for you to come two days in -- wait, what?"  _

_ "I said I'll go," he repeats, and has to fight for his next breath as Jemma squeals and grabs him in a tight hug. "I'll have to ask my mum, but I don't think we're doing anything this weekend, Jemma. Can't. Breathe!" She lets go apologetically, but as she launches into the story of Swan Lake, Fitz doesn't have to go any further than the frenzied spark in her eyes to know that he'd made the right decision, social anxiety be damned.  _

_ Mrs. Fitz agrees for them to attend the performance without a second thought -- besides, she's quite fond of little Jemma -- and the two of them pull into the community college auditorium that Saturday afternoon, she in a partial Sunday best and he in a nice sweater and pants. Fitz clutches a bouquet of flowers in his arms as if they're a lifeline (it'd been his idea to stop at the market for them on the way there), and the two of them file into the dark auditorium to their seats, programs in hand. He checks the program, only to find that Jemma's class isn't slated to perform until after intermission. His mother catches the disappointment with a knowing chuckle and ruffles his hair, careful not to mess it up.  _

_ "Good things come to those who wait," she tells him. "I'm sure Jemma's performance will be worth waiting for."  _

_ He's not too sure about that through the first five or six numbers, all of them seemingly the same variation of classical numbers and girls of varying ages wearing tutus with their hair pulled into tight buns. Even the color schemes blend together in his mind -- by intermission, Fitz's program is raggedy from him folding it over and over out of boredom. Mrs. Fitz lets out another knowing chuckle, and, fixing the flowers drooping dangerously in his arms, pulls a ginger ale and a bottle of juice out of her bag. "Your choice, monkey."  _

_ When the lights drop for the second half, Fitz is in slightly better spirits, the sugar from the juice allowing him to focus attentively through the first few numbers. Soon after that, though, the sugar begins to drop, and he can feel himself drifting off again when he sees a flurry of tutus scurry onto stage, preparing for the next song. A single spotlight shines onto the lead dancer with a crack that reverberates throughout the auditorium, its occupant stealing the breath out of his lungs.  _

_ Jemma stands perfectly still, eyes closed and downcast at her feet. Her normally flyaway bangs are pressed into a sleekly-made bun, a white pouf of tulle anchored into it. Her dress stands in stark contrast to that of her fellow dancers', a snowy white tank leotard embroidered with silver thread that flares out into a tutu, the thread following the skirt's circumference.  _

_ She raises her head, mouth set in a determined line, and for the briefest of moments, brown meets green in a defiant but relieved stare before the music trots off, the dancers moving with fluidity.  _

_ Throughout it all, Fitz keeps his eyes on Jemma, who moves from plie to pirouette to delicately balanced pose. The grace in her movements is evident, heavy with hours of practice and experience. It's clear that he's not the only one who thinks so, for as soon as the final bar fades into silence, the entire audience is on its feet with a roar of applause. Jemma accepts the praise with an embarrassed blush and a giggle, and it's only when a fellow dancer pushes her a little further into the spotlight that she takes a bow.  _

_ "You were brilliant!" are the first words out of Fitz's mouth when he and his mum meet a still-glowing Jemma and family outside of the dressing room. He wastes no time in handing her the flowers, which she takes with a bright smile. "You didn't tell me you were the big solo!"  _

_ "It wasn't that big --" Jemma tries to shrug, but she's cut off both audibly and physically by a blur of blue tulle and brown hair. Fitz recognizes her as one of the other girls in Jemma's number, but it's only obvious when the other girl pulls back that it's Daisy Johnson, one of their more popular classmates. "Daisy, I can't breathe!"  _

_ "You did so good, Jemma! I knew Miss Isabelle was right to pick you! Dumb Maggie Cortz woulda messed it up anyways --"  _

_ "Daisy," Jemma tries to interject.  _

_ "--if anythin', she woulda needed the lucky charm, not you, like I've been sayin', you don't need a lucky charm to dance, I didn't even see ya bring it with you when we went onstage --" _

_ "That's 'cause my lucky charm is a person," Jemma tries again, and Daisy falls silent, eyes wide. "Fitz is my lucky charm," The other brunette turns to Fitz and grins.  _

_ "Hiya, Fitz!" she chirps. "Jemma 'n I usually go for Friendly's after our recitals. Wanna come?" Fitz looks up to his mother for confirmation, who in turn looks towards the other sets of parents. _

_ "I don't think we've met," Daisy's father chuckles, holding out his hand to shake. Mrs. Fitz smiles, shaking his hand before turning to shake the wife's in turn. "Phil Coulson, and this is my wife, Melinda. I swear we're going to need a Rolodex soon to keep up with all of the friends Daisy makes."  _

_ "And think about it," Melinda deadpans. "She's only in the third grade, Phil. Imagine what happens when she gets to college." Phil pales and pretends to clutch his wife's shoulder for support, causing all of the parents to laugh. "Then you're going to have to start updating it with her friends and her exes."  _

_ Daisy pokes Phil's arm. "Can Fitz come? Please, Dad?" She and Jemma employ their most dangerous puppy eyes unto their parents; Fitz, for his part, simply looks up at his mother pleadingly. He'd tried the puppy eyes once, and all it'd gotten him was a laugh and a ruffle of the hair. "Pleeeeeeeeeeease?"  _

_ "Why don't you girls both go change," Jemma's mother suggests, "while us parents discuss it together." Jemma and Daisy nod excitedly and race off towards the dressing room, leaving Fitz to fidget nervously with his feet. "Melinda, did you and Phil take the minivan today? If not, Tim and I took the Rover -- we can take Jemma for you and meet you there. Fiona, we usually let the girls ride together to Friendly's -- would Fitz like to tag along?"  _

_ Fiona looks at Fitz, who feels the earlier nervousness settle back into his stomach. How personal was he going to get into Jemma's life today? First her extracurriculars, now her ballet friendships. But really, it was just Daisy -- and it wasn't like the three of them couldn't pick up at school. So he nods, just in time for Daisy and Jemma to emerge from the dressing room, bags slung over their shoulders.  _

_ "I think the minivan has wider seats," Melinda suggests. "And besides, I'm fairly sure you've got to fit an entire floral shop into the car. Three kids aren't going to fit in there." That draws another laugh from the parents. "Fiona, it's the Friendly's on West Main, and the reservation's under my name. We'll see you there?"  _

_ Friendly's is everything Fitz imagines and more -- he, Jemma and Daisy pore over word searches and debate what color to color the Monster Mash ice cream cup (Daisy and Fitz side due to their love of mint chocolate chip). Some ingenious planning ensures that they get waffle fries, regular friends and onion rings, and as soon as the plates hit the table, the three of them are swapping sides so that they have a little bit of each. He even manages to best the restaurant's claw machine, handing his prizes to Jemma and Daisy before landing one for himself.  _

_ There's a picture that hangs in the FitzSimmons household of the three of them, each of them clutching their respective stuffed animals with wide grins. It tells a lot of their friendship, but what it doesn't tell is of the moment Fitz drops his third stuffed animal into the prize bucket, picks it out and rubs its head. Nor does it tell of the next sentence he'd said to Jemma: _

_ "See, Jem? You're my lucky charm, too." _


	3. College Can't Change a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz's heard everything changes in college. He's not sure he can stand that.

"Wait, but if you met Fitz then, how did you know he was --" Hunter puts on a horrifyingly inaccurate attempt at Daisy's voice. "in love with Jemma since he was six'? Maths don't add up, Johnson."

Daisy snorts and waves the waiter over for another round. "FitzSimmons met at age six. You really think Jem and I haven't been dancing together since we were four? Anyways, you wouldn't believe the amount of luck these two have had." She leans in conspiratorially, and so does everyone else, save for Jemma and Fitz, who simply just roll their eyes. "When we were in fifth grade, Jem started a debate with Fitz over whether Pepsi or Coke was better, so they got behind the 499th person to buy a soda at the movies, Fitz bought the 500th and won a trip to Six Flags. In seventh grade, Jemma sold Fitz a winning raffle ticket, and they won $1000. During the eighth grade party, they were so busy trying to outdo each other at the Cupid Shuffle that they didn't notice someone'd spiked the punch."

Jemma laughs. "Phil and Melinda were so mad at you for that one. Fitz and I had to keep you from puking in Fiona's car on the way home." 

Daisy nods seriously, even as she's pulling a disgusted face at the memory. "I didn't drink Jungle Juice for the first half of my college career once I figured out it was Everclear. Anyways, get this -- literally our entire time in high school, neither of them had relationships that worked out unless the other one got along with them. It wasn't even that they needed their approval. That's literally just how it went." 

"Except for the one time Fitz thought asking Daisy out was a good idea," Jemma adds fondly, pressing a kiss to Fitz's cheek. "That was doomed from the start." 

"Fitz, my man," Trip laughs, shaking his head. "What on Earth made you think that was a good idea?"

Fitz splutters, half-formed words exiting his mouth in an attempt to defend himself, along with Daisy, who pretends to act offended that he's not coming to her defense. Finally, he manages a "She was pretty and funny!" much to the amusement of the table. Jemma just laughs and squeezes his hand. "Anyways, it was better that it didn't work out, wasn't it?"

_ The scene Fiona walks into is one she's intimately familiar with -- Fitz and Jemma staring nervously at a stack of crisp, bright white envelopes sitting on the Fitzs’ kitchen table -- but there's something about the air of this afternoon that makes her take pause, cocking her head at the stack of the day. Fitz and Jemma are holding hands tightly, and Fiona watches as the silence stretches on, tense and thick (does she even want to know how long they've been sitting there?) until finally, Jemma speaks.  _

_ "How about this," she suggests evenly, though her free hand is shaking. "I'll open yours, and you can open mine." There's a quick shuffle of the envelopes, in which Fiona manages to catch the name of the university -- ah, so it is MIT -- before Jemma speaks again. "One. Two. Three."  _

_ RIP. "Fitz, you made it!"  _

_ "I made it?" Fitz asks, voice faints. She nods, and he clutches the acceptance letter to his chest with a dramatically starry look in his eyes. "I got into MIT!" It's then he catches sight of Fiona in the corner wearing a bemused smile, and he staggers over to her to wrap her in a boisterous hug. "Mum, I got into MIT!" She just pats him on the back, tears in her eyes. Her little boy, off to uni in the fall. Who would've thought? "I got into MIT!"  _

_ "We know, Fitz," Jemma says amusedly. "I did tell you would, remember?"  _

_ "Well, of course," Fitz says, stumbling over to pull Jemma into a hug next. "Could never go wrong with a lucky charm." He picks up her envelope, and the tension in the room returns as he rips it open. "Jemma Simmons," he begins. "After reviewing your transcript and academic record, we are...proud to admit you into the class of 2023, Jem, you did it!"  _

_ "I did it?"  _

_ "You did it!" Fitz exclaims. He's barely let himself think about what a life without Jemma Simmons would be like, something he hasn't had since he was six years old. But now, he muses, he won't have to think about that at all, and the relief is so crushing he pulls Jemma into a loose hug. "Just like I said you would. But you didn't need my luck to get in, you know. You would've done it on your own."  _

_ Jemma swats at him from her hug. "Oh, hush. I could say the same for you." The doorbell rings, and not wanting to disturb the emotional festivities, Fiona fetches the door to find Daisy grinning ecstatically. "Hi, Fiona. Did FitzSimmons -- I mean, Fitz and Jemma, not that I ship them at all --" Fiona fixes her with an amused look. "Okay, I do. But don't tell them. I want them to learn that on their own. Did they get into MIT?" Fiona shows Daisy in in lieu of a response, the latter squealing when she catches sight of the tight embrace. "You both got in!"  _

_ "We both got in," Fitz confirms, leaning into Jemma's shoulder and she vice versa. "Did you get into Northeastern?"  _

_ Daisy whips out her own acceptance letter, complete with a decal of a husky dog. "Huskies 2023, baby!" Squeals rebound through the kitchen as all three of them embrace, exulting in their dream college acceptances. She's the first to break, a wide grin on her face. "You know this means we have to celebrate."  _

_ "Oh, please, no, no more laser tag," Jemma groans. "The last time we went, Isabelle destroyed us all. I'm not sure my bruised ego could handle that again."  _

_ "I promise we're not going to go laser tagging with any more future soldiers," Daisy laughs softly before dropping her gaze. "I was, uh, thinking we could go to Friendly's? Like old times?" The silence in the kitchen is volumes, now, tomes spanning ten years of friendships and dramas of every variety. "Maybe I can even convince them to give us kids' menus."  _

_ Fitz grins. "Only if Jem promises to try the Monster Mash with mint chip ice cream," _

_ "No," Jemma threatens, and just like that, their fears about the impending future are shoved aside, filed away in a drawer marked away for later. Instead, still laughing, the three of them pile into Daisy's car, Fitz and Jemma squashed into one side as they've always been.  _

_ "Jem?" Fitz murmurs as Daisy fiddles with the radio, a cheesy pop tune coming to life. "Even when we go to college, we're still gonna be...we're still gonna be us, right?" It's a small piece of doubt taking hold in his mind, but it's big enough to sometimes make a racket that drowns out all rational thought. "We're still gonna be friends?"  _

_ Jemma frowns at him, a beam of sunlight catching her face for a brief moment; in that moment, he's taken back to their first meeting, struck dumb by flyaway brown bangs and eager eyes. "Of course we are," she answers, reaching to squeeze his hand. "You're my lucky charm." _

"Then we came to uni and met you fools," Jemma tells them affectionately, and uproar upends the table once more, mostly from Hunter protesting at being titled as such. Apprehensively, the waiter sets down the latest round of beers before scampering off. "Oh hush, Lance, the first time we met you, you were in the middle of a kegstand and weren't sure if you could get down without puking."

"That's the first time you met him?" Bobbi deadpans. "That's how I met him, too." 

"Moral of the story is never to let Hunter do keg stands," Mack snorts. "I still can't believe we had to go through an entire undergrad career without you two realizing you were meant to be together." 


	4. Go On and (Ask Out) the Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one time Fitz wishes his status as a lucky charm would backfire, it doesn't.

_ SLAM.  _

_ Mack sees the heap of jacket and backpack hit the bed before he sees Fitz himself, the sopping wet Scot not looking unlike a wet dog shaking its fur out before collapsing into his desk chair. "The cosmos are cursed, Mack." The comment makes his eyebrows fly to the ceiling -- as a mechanical engineer, Fitz constantly goes out of his way to disprove anything related to fate and astrology. It makes for some fun arguments at the dining hall, that's for sure.  _

_ "Thought you didn't believe in the fates and all that." Fitz sighs irritably, and Mack resigns himself to poring over his coursework for engineering at three in the morning rather than now. "Spit it out, Turbo." _

_ The scowl on his roommate's face is pushed to one side, scrunching his whole expression into one of someone who's recently just eaten a particularly sour pickle. "Jemma's on a date with Cabbage Milton."  _

_ "I thought you set Jemma up with Milton." He was going to ignore the 'Cabbage' tacked onto Milton's name. At least until he found out why Fitz decided comparing their fellow engineer to a leafy vegetable was appropriate. "Weren't you the one who said she should take a chance and ask him out?"  _

_ "Yeah, well, I didn't mean for her to actually ask him out!" Mack didn't think it was possible, but the scowl on Fitz's face gets decidedly more sour. "Now they're at some stupid dinner at Maggiano's, probably having a laugh over the ravioli or whatever. Git." Huh. The date part's new -- last he'd heard, Jemma's been wringing her hands over asking Milton out. "But if you didn't want her to ask him out, why did you tell her to? It's not like --" The air in the room goes stiffly silent. "Unless...Fitz, man, is there something you want to tell me?"  _

_ Fitz sighs. "Since we were six," he says, and the confession actually causes his shoulders to lift. "Since she stuck her hand out and said her name was Jemma, god, Mack, how pathetic am I?" He sighs as his roommate rolls his chair across the room to pat him on the back. "Can't even tell my best friend that I love her. Don't think I'll ever get to, either." It is their senior year, after all, and their theses deadlines loom closer and closer each day.  _

_ "Turbo, you two are made for each other. Why don't you just tell her?" Before it's too late, Mack wants to add, but he figures the addendum probably wouldn't do much for Fitz's stress. "She's your best friend. What could go wrong?"  _

_ "What could go wrong? What could go wrong?!" Obviously, this was a question Fitz's considered multiple times over the years. "Everything could go wrong, Mack. She could not like me like that," he begins, voice rising in pitch with every projection. "She could say we're better off friends. She could hate me after I asked her out!"  _

_ "Or you she could be wildly in love with you and you two get married and have five kids," Mack points out flatly, and the suggestion is so reminiscent of Daisy that Fitz has to make sure he's not hallucinating. "Fitz, man, I've seen the way Jemma looks at you. She looks at you like you single-handedly invented calculus and penicillin before going on to discover the seventh wonder of the world,"  _

_ "That person doesn't exist, Mack. They were all at different times."  _

_ "Exactly, my man." Frowning, Fitz tries to work out the equation in his head. It's still not adding up, so he settles for giving Mack a continually confused look. "She looks at you like you're someone so crazy wonderful they technically shouldn't exist. Like if she blinks, you could dissipate into thin air." _

_ "That's what I'm worried about." This time, it's Mack's turn to be confused. "Say I do ask her out, and she says yes. We date. And one day -- could be tomorrow, could be next week -- what if we come to something so irreconcilable it breaks us apart? Or if we lose all of the magic that makes us...us? You and I both know I wouldn't be able to handle it." Even imagining his life without Jemma took his breath away. "I'm not putting us in danger."  _

_ Mack sighs. "You and Jemma are two of the most well-connected people I know. Literally and metaphorically -- I swear you're joined at the hip and share a brain sometimes." More than once he's seen the two of them have a conversation with each other simply through glances and nods. It made for a fascinating observation in everyday life. Less so at game night. "Nothing short of the apocalypse could take you two apart. Much less one of you trying to work out their feelings." Not that they would be one-sided, anyways. "Ask her out, man. Before someone else does." Fitz raises an eyebrow. "That isn't Milton. You're lucky he's a horrible conversationalist. Might not be so lucky next time."  _

_ "How do you know?" Mack hands Fitz his phone, a text thread between him and Daisy detailing screenshots of a conversation between whom Fitz presumes is Jemma and Daisy. Expressionless, he scrolls through the screenshots, lips setting into a concrete line. "Wow. He really said --" _

_ He winces. "Yeah."  _

_ A low whistle slides from Fitz's lips. "Yeah, okay. I...I can do this." He could ask out the love of his life. It was only sixteen years of friendship he was putting on the line. No big deal. Wasn't like everything would change if she said no.  _

_ "You can do this," Mack repeats. "And if she says no, I'll go pick up a twelve-pack and we'll get appropriately wasted. But I don't think you'll need it."  _

_ He certainly  _ hopes _ not, anyways.  _

_ "So there's this girl," _

* * *

_ They're in the middle of a grueling problem set in preparation for exams -- one of their last ones, a fact neither of them brings up -- when Fitz says it, and it's off-putting enough that Jemma sets down her pencil, furrowing her brow at him. Fitz, to his credit, doesn't stop working, only flipping his pencil around to correct an equation in his work. "There's a girl," she says, voice oddly level. "There's a girl?"  _

_ "Yeah," he answers casually, hoping she doesn't notice the shake in his voice. "There's a, uh. There's a girl. I like her."  _

_ Jemma sets aside her textbook completely and crosses her arms at her best friend, settling into the back of the common room armchair. "Uh-huh?"  _

_ "Uh-huh." Why was she being so cavalier about this? "I, uh, really like her, Jem." The pencil clacks slightly on the table as he puts it down, breaking the silence now brimming between the two of them. "Think I'm gonna ask her out."  _

_ "That's serious," she hums noncommittally. Inside, her stomach is roiling. Had she been so engrossed in her quest to ask Milton out that she hadn't noticed Fitz pining away for some unknown girl? And now said girl was about to take him away from her. Jemma wasn't possessive by any means, and she would never stop him from dating (he hadn't stopped her from making the horrid decision to ask Milton out, after all), but something about the thought of Fitz sharing a milkshake or a terrible rom-com with someone else made her unreasonably queasy. "I haven't really heard much about her." She at least deserves to know what kind of person's slithered their way into her best friend's life.  _

_ Fitz hums, setting his book aside and leaning towards her. "She's...I don't know where to start," he begins with a chuckle, and her stomach drops. Really, how had she missed this? "She's the most amazing person I've ever met, and she challenges me in all the ways I can think of and more. She knows everything about me, Jemma, I...I've never seen her flinch away when I tell her about myself, or when I end up talking about my work for too long. And she's beautiful," He lets out a self-deprecating chuckle then, and her gut slides even closer to the floor. "Looking at her is like looking at the sun, Jem, except it doesn't burn if I look too long. Takes my breath away every time."  _

_ "She sounds wonderful," Jemma echoes quietly, and Fitz nods. "You should ask her out." She wonders if it's someone she knows -- from what he's said, it sounds like someone they know. It's not Daisy, she knows that much; at least, she hopes it isn't Daisy, not after the fiasco in high school. It can't be Isabelle, she reasons, as Fitz is downright scared of her. "She'd be lucky to have you, you know."  _

_ Fitz frowns. "I haven't even told you who it is yet." It's part of their unspoken ritual. (He, at least, calls it a ritual. Jemma calls it a process that's known to have positive results and therefore should be one that's repeated every time they have a similar situation.) Telling their crushes to the other person invokes a little bit of the 'lucky charm' trait they've come to joke about over the years, one that he sincerely hopes isn't about to backfire on him. "If I don't tell you who it is, the charm's not going to work."  _

_ She gives him a wan smile instead, wanting all of this to just be over so she can text Daisy to get her out of there. "You know as well as I do you don't need me," she tells him, the double meaning not lost on her. "Girls are lining up down the block to be with you. Just a matter of which one you want."  _

_ "And what if she's not in the line?" he asks, and the air in the common room gets even stiffer.  _

_ "You mean she's close," she breathes, and yep, it's definitely Bobbi Morse he's after; Bobbi who Jemma'd accidentally bumped into once outside of their biochemistry class second semester and had subsequently become one of their closest friends, Bobbi who was tall and blonde and fun and flirty and who Jemma absolutely did not stand a chance against. Not even a smidgen of a chance.  _

_ "Yeah," he says. "I was, uh, thinking of taking her to Friendly's."  _

_ "Friendly's?" Jemma asks, mentally cursing the smooth ball of emotion just then deciding to take up residence in her chest. So she meant that much to Fitz. Enough to him to take her to their childhood haunt, enough to write over all of the memories they'd established over the years, all of the traditions they've developed. Enough to write over her presence in his life. How had she not noticed? "Yeah," she says, hoping he can't hear the slight catch in her voice. "Friendly's is a great place for a first date." She wonders if Daisy can pick up the jumbo box of rose. That, and at least a quart of ice cream.  _

_ Fitz nods again with a wry smile, like he can't notice that with every second of that damn smile he's poking at her already-fragile composure. Like she hasn't grown accustomed to that smile nearly her entire life, and losing it will be the worst withdrawal of her 22 years. It will kill her to see that smile directed at another, and she knows it.  _

_ (Jemma wonders when along the way she fell in love with Leopold Fitz but casts it aside; there's no point in dwelling on a when that will never be realized.) _

_ She doesn't see Fitz take a trembling breath, so caught up in her own thoughts she is. She doesn't see him scoot even closer than he was before, take her hands and look her straight in the eye until she's staring down two unfamiliar-yet-familiar seas of green. "So Friday at seven work for you?"  _

_ Jemma blinks, waiting for the latest sentence to register in her head and devastate her. Blinks again as it registers, but off -- had he just asked to pick her up on Friday? One more blink, just to make sure it'd registered and encoded correctly. Yup, still there. Better verbally corroborate. "You want to take me to Friendly's?" Her. Friendly's. The suspicion begins trickling in, sluicing around the bottom of the ball in her chest. "Fitz, did you just lucky charm me...to ask me out?" _

_ Fitz scratches the back of his neck, a red patch spreading on his cheeks. "I like you, Jem." When she doesn't answer, he throws it all to the wind and dives in. "No. I more than like you, Jem. There's not been anyone by my side longer than you have. From the moment we met, you floored me, the moment I shook your hand, I was in love with you. And when you asked out Milton, I...I thought the world was going to end." The tension in the air lessens, and it's enough that he laughs. "You should've seen Mack that night. I've never seen that man look more out of his depth."  _

_ Jemma imagines Mack, gentle but giant all the same, awkwardly attempting to console a disheartened Fitz in the dim light of their cramped dorm room. The image makes her laugh more than she cares to admit. Still: "You told me to ask Milton out."  _

_ "I didn't think you'd actually do it!" Fitz exclaims, his expression so akin to a fish that she has to laugh again. "And then you did, and my life flashed before my eyes and I panicked because I was terrified of losing you."  _

_ "You know, even if I had kept dating him -- and you'd have to pay me to keep on it, honestly -- you never would've lost me," she says, squeezing his hand. "Haven't you heard of what happens to people who lose their lucky charms?" Fitz laughs again, the relief a tsunami crashing through his veins.  _ They were going to be okay. _ "What would I do without my lucky charm?"  _

_ "Well, for your sake and mine, let's hope we never have to find out." _


	5. It Always Comes Back To the Jellybeans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz has always been a fan of being old-school. This time, he _literally _does.__

"So now we arrive at the juiciest question," Daisy hums. Her sentence is slightly incoherent -- whether it's because she's got one cheek pressed to the table or because of the five glasses surrounding her, they're not quite sure. "Jem. Fitz. Who proposed first?" 

"And how'd it happen?" Hunter echoes. He's not in much better shape than Daisy, but at the very least, he doesn't have a cheek pressed against the wood. "Were there candles? Moonlight? Some..." He wiggles his eyebrows, and both Jemma and Fitz know what's coming. "Hanky-panky in the bedroom?" Jemma just raises an eyebrow at Bobbi, who in turn digs a foam slipper out of her purse and smacks her drunk boyfriend across the head. "Ow! Bob!" 

Bobbi just rolls her eyes and sets the slipper back into her purse, keeping it ready for its next use. "You'd think by now, he'd learn to stop asking stupid questions," 

"You can take Hunter out of stupid, but you can't take the stupid out of Hunter," Trip muses, sliding a fresh round of water glasses around the table. "Drink," he threatens Hunter and Daisy when they whine at the glasses. "The last time you two drank this much together, I had to drag your asses a mile home because an Uber wouldn't take us back." 

Mack hums in remembrance. "Oh, yeah. Dais threw up in a cop's bushes." 

"Can we get back to the question?" Daisy asks, peeling her cheek off of the table. "I wanna know how Jemma 'n Fitz got 'ngaged!" 

_ The first thing Jemma spots when she opens the door to her apartment is the jar of jellybeans. It's a monstrous thing of a jar -- at least five feet tall -- and Fitz, cheeky little Fitz, is bustling around in the kitchen with a whistle, completely oblivious to the mountain of sugar currently sitting in their living room. "Fitz," she says suspiciously, setting her bag on a hook and joining him. "Why do we have a jar of jellybeans in the living room?"  _

_ "Ah, Jemma, love of my life, light of my heart," Instantly, Fitz is sweeping her into his arms and guiding her to the couch, where she's led to sit with much protest...right in front of the jar. "I thought we'd do a bit of a throwback." The medieval tone drops from his voice, only to be exchanged instead with a bright bouquet of flowers. "Happy twenty-five years, Jemma. Best 25 years of my life."  _

_ She gives him a look but lifts her nose to the flowers all the same. "We haven't been together for 25 years," she chuckles. "You make us sound ridiculously old." Still, the fact that their friendship is over twenty years old (they're just past thirty!) never ceases to amaze her. Constants are hard to come by, she knows, and she's never felt luckier that hers survived the transition from friendship to relationship. Although, given the large jar of jellybeans in their living room, she suspects that might change.  _

_ "I've loved you for those 23 years," he answers seriously, and snorts out a laugh at her blush before handing her a piece of paper and golf pencil. "Ready to do some measuring?"  _

_ "Only if you measure the last couple of feet," she jokes before squatting down to the table and stacking her thumbs on top of each other. "I'm not sure I could reach that high." True to her word, with a few inches to go, she pretends to struggle for only a few seconds before Fitz is swooping in, measuring the rest of the way with a sharp eye and steady hands. "If I needed 57 thumbs and you 16, that means the jar was...73 inches? Fitz, did you buy a six foot jar?"  _

_ Fitz pinks. "You know how hard it was to find a jar this size?"  _

_ Jemma just shakes her head. The antics of this man. "I don't even want to know how many jellybeans you put into it." Still, she begins measuring the bottom of the jar with her thumbs, eyeing the brightly colored pieces of candy inside of it. "Tell me we're not being expected to eat all of these," Finally, her thumbs level off, and she looks up at Fitz, who's watching her with a starry look in his eyes. "Thirty-six thumbs. And it's a square base of a jar."  _

_ He kisses her then, a soft peck on the lips that tastes of promises and tangy watermelon. "So thirty-six by thirty-six by seventy-three is..." Ducking his head, there's several sounds of scratching. "94,608 inches cubed. Hey, Jem?"  _

_ "Did you know the volume of a jellybean's about three-and-a-half cubic centimeters?" she finishes, her wide, toothy grin matching his as she scribbles out the last piece of long division. "I can't believe you bought over 30,000 jellybeans. If we have to eat them all, I swear --"  _

_ "Don't worry," he laughs, and brandishes a large bag of empty Easter egg shells. "Lenore's grandkids are going to have a great Easter egg hunt this weekend." Jemma's always had a soft spot for their elderly neighbor -- whether it's bringing her fruit pies or simply providing her company for the occasional cup of afternoon tea, she's always the first to volunteer her time. It's endearing, really. But it's also meant Fitz's been subjected to many a 'So, no ring yet? One of my son's friends is single' jokes. "Shall we?"  _

_ As Jemma groans good-naturedly and pops open the jar, he takes a deep breath and follows her suit in scooping out his own handful of jellybeans. Hopefully he'll be able to put an end to the jokes in the next half-hour. _

_ They fill the eggs in comfortable silence, one shaped by long study sessions, car rides and lazy afternoons. On a couple of occasions, Fitz almost scoops the ring into his hand, the diamond glittering in his palm. Much to his relief, Jemma doesn't notice, and continues scooping up jellybeans to fill the eggs like nothing's happening. But the voice in the back of his head knows that eventually, she's going to pick up the ring. Hopefully, he can get his thoughts together by then.  _

_ "Fitz?" That time might be now, actually. He swallows and dares to look over, wondering if the next thirty seconds are about to ruin his life.  _

_ "Jemma." She's holding up the ring -- that question's answered, at least. But he can't quite decipher the look on her face: her lips are pressed together, eyes focused on the small piece of jewelry pinched between two fingers. Is it hope? Disappointment? Or some other emotion he's not yet thought of? "Jemma, say something?"  _

_ "You tell me, Leo. You're the one who's put a ring in the jellybean jar."  _

_ Now or never. "I've known you since we were six," he begins, and sets down the egg he's working on to turn and face her. "Since you measured your way into my life with a three-and-a-half cubic centimeter jellybean. Since we won the godawful jar and had to distribute the rest of the jellybeans to the entire first grade class." They shudder in unison, the collective sugar high of their classmates a memory they still haven't forgotten even after all this time. "I was in love with you from the moment I saw your name on a ballot."  _

_ "Some people go from being best friends to lovers. I think it's lucky I loved you and go to be your best friend." Tears are brimming at the edges of Jemma's eyes even as she holds the ring still. "I know I can be a lot to deal with sometimes. I get frustrated a lot and I'm a messy man and I tend to take things over the top sometimes --"  _

_ "You think?" Jemma sniffles, and the ridiculousness of it all makes them snort.  _

_ "--but I love you, Jemma Simmons. I once said to Mack that the cosmos were cursed when you went out on that date with Milton. But when I look at you, all I can think of is that they've been aligned this whole time, because there's no other way I would've been led to you. So I'm hoping the cosmos can do me one more favor, and," She gasps as he sinks to one knee, gently taking the hand holding the ring. "Will you marry me?"  _

_ She seizes his face in a kiss instead of answering, the two of them with tears dripping down their cheeks when they pull apart. "Cosmos or not, I would've said yes," she chides gently. "I've always said that you didn't need luck. You're good enough on your own." _

“Tha’s beautiful,” Daisy hiccups. By now, the bar has mostly cleared out save for their little group, and the waiter’s even stopped serving them glasses of water. “I always knew you two were meant to be together,” 

Even Hunter is attempting to hold back his tears, and judging by the fact that Bobbi already has a pack of tissues out, he’ll be well into the waterworks even before they settle their tabs. “Story like that puts us all to shame, mate,” he half-blubbers, and a titter goes around the table, Jemma hiding a laugh in Fitz’s shoulder. “‘M happy for you two. I really am.” 

“Thanks, you two,” Jemma tells them, her smile struggling to hide her amusement. “Think it’s about time you got home, though, isn’t it? Haven’t you got work tomorrow, Dais?” 

The brunette startles, nearly falling out of her seat. “Oh my god. Work.” She turns to Trip, panic in her eyes. “Babe, we gotta go. We gotta  _ go _ .” Clattering fills their booth as she tries unsuccessfully to stand, and in the end, she winds up leaning heavily on his shoulder. “I love you, and I love love,” she calls to Fitz and Jemma as the pair make their way out of the bar. “I’d better be the maid of honor, Jem!” 

“I think that’s our cue,” Bobbi chuckles quietly, and their goodbye is somewhat more subdued than Daisy’s noisy departure, mainly due to the tall blonde’s experience in handling her sleepy-drunk boyfriend. Mack is next to leave, his eyes fond as he first embraces Fitz, then Jemma. “I might not have known you two as long as Daisy, but I know a true love when I see one,” he tells them. “Congratulations.” 

It leaves Fitz and Jemma alone in the booth, awash in their friends’ warm well-wishes and their own recent success. “I think that went pretty well,” Jemma hums languidly. “Ready to go?” 

He just nods, and together, they depart the bar, two lucky charms onto their next adventure.


End file.
